Alli Wittmer knows only three words and one is 'mama'

Rita Price The Columbus Dispatch @RitaPrice

Monday

May 14, 2018 at 8:56 AM

SANDUSKY Her first long-term plans were those of a "typical little girl" growing up in a small Midwestern city along the Lake Erie shore, Peggy Heim said. She would fall in love, get married, raise a family. That's what her mother hoped for her, too.

"I had several opportunities," Heim said.

Harder to explain is the moment she no longer cared about such plans. It was 1982, and Heim had come home from Bible college to see her friend's infant daughter. "I remember saying, 'She's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen,''' Heim said.

Sheri Wittmer was stunned. "No one has ever said that," she told Heim. "Everyone always looks at what's wrong."

Heim didn't focus on the damage wrought by an abnormal 15th chromosome. She was instead captivated by little Alli Wittmer's face and her warm, cheerful gaze. The baby seemed to reach out and smile with every part of her being.

It wasn't the kind of love-at-first-sight that Heim had dreamed about, yet it was a love that seemed to instantly change everything. Heim didn't expect others to understand.

"I never mentioned it to anyone," she said, "but I knew that part of my calling was to lay down my life for her."

From that day on, Heim remained a devoted helper and caregiver for Alli, whose cognitive and physical disabilities were caused by a complex genetic disorder known as Angelman syndrome. Her parents served as pastors at a local church, had busy schedules and were glad to have someone who could lend a hand. They also would go on to have two more children.

Alli, the oldest, was a 29-year-old woman with a sunny disposition and a three-word vocabulary — baby, sissy, mama — when the family decided to leave northeastern Ohio in 2011 for new careers in northern California.

Wittmer had no intentions of leaving her behind, but she also didn't want to separate Alli from her other "mama." She told Heim that she could come with them.

Heim, however, was torn about moving so far from her own parents. And she loved her job in the disability-services industry, a career that Alli had inspired. If the Wittmers left, she told herself, "I was going to get two or three jobs to fill my time."

She also worried how Alli would adjust, what her parents' work schedules would be like, and whether she would be able to obtain the same Medicaid-funded services in her new community.

"Peggy came up with a very, very brave proposal that shocked both my husband and I," Wittmer said. "She said, 'I think maybe it's in Alli's best interest to stay here.'''

After much prayer, Wittmer said, they decided to try it temporarily. When they returned to Sandusky about a year later, Alli was thriving. She'd lost weight and seemed healthier than ever. She accompanied Heim to concerts, movies and family gatherings, including Tuesday night outings with friends at the Old Dutch tavern.

Heim fearlessly took Alli into other people's worlds and brought them into hers. It isn't easy sharing a home with someone who needs assistance with everything, including walking, but Heim felt fulfilled.

"It's hard to be unhappy with Alli around," she said. "But if you have to be, she'll hold your hand through it."

Wittmer saw that the two were building a good life.

"I began to think in terms of if you give your Helen Keller to Anne Sullivan and she takes her beyond where you were taking her," Wittmer said. "Peggy has this energy — a basic belief in Alli that she could do more.''

Celebrated as a mom

Every few months, Alli and Heim fly to California to visit. They left last week and will be there for Mother's Day. "We will all celebrate together," Wittmer said. "We celebrate Peggy as a mom, too."

Alli is 36 now and Heim, 56, is her guardian. Alli attends a day program at Ability Works, where Heim is the quality-services manager.

Becky Pfanner, a long-time friend to both women, said they're an inspiration to many in their Erie County community. "I've known Alli since she was about 4, and it's just amazing," Pfanner said. "And Peggy? We need about 100,000 more of her."

Heim said her family eventually went from being mystified to proud of the way she has followed her heart. Heim's birthday is in June, so she figured her dad was a month early when an envelope arrived in May. "I thought, 'What is he doing?' I opened it and it was a Mother's Day card."

Even Heim's mother, with whom she had a sometimes-rocky relationship when she was young, thanked her daughter for teaching her so much about "living life on your own terms." By the time she died last year, she thought of herself as Alli's grandma.

Though the cognitive effects of Angelman syndrome are devastating, those with the disorder smile and laugh a lot — sometimes inappropriately — and appear to have a happy demeanor. Alli is textbook.

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